the prayer made: 'Give us our daily bread.'

Perhaps the old legend of Goolahwilleel was originally told with a
moral, and that may be: why black artists are so well treated now.

A maker of new songs or corroborees is always kept well supplied with
the luxuries of life; it may be that such an one is a little feared as
being supposed to have direct communication with the spirits who teach
him his art. A fine frenzy is said to seize some of their poets and
playwrights, who, for the time being, are quite under the domination of
the spirits--possessed of devils, in fact. When the period of mental
incubation is over and the song hatched out, the possessed ones return
to their normal condition, the devils are cast out, and the songs are
all that remain in evidence that the artist was ever possessed.

Some songs do not require this process of fine frenzy they come along
in the course of barter, handed from tribe to tribe.

Ghiribul, or riddles, play a great part in their social life, and he
who knows many is much sought after.

Most of these ghiribul are not translatable, being little songs
describing the things to be guessed, whose peculiarities the singer
acts as he sings--a sort of one-man show, pantomime in miniature, with
a riddle running through it.

Some which I will give indicate the nature of others.

What is it that says to the flood-water, 'I am too strong for you; you
can not push me back'? ANS. Goodoo, the codfish.

What is it that says, 'You cannot help yourself; you will have to go
and let me take your place; you cannot stay when I come'? ANS. The grey
hairs in a man's beard to the black ones.

'If a man hide himself so that his wife could not see him, and he
wanted her to know where he was, yet had promised not to speak, laugh,
cry, sneeze, cough, nor move his hands nor feet, how could he do so?'
ANS. Whistle.

'The strongest man cannot stand against me. I can knock him down, yet I
do not hurt him. He feels better for my having knocked him down. What
am I?' ANS. Sleep.

'I am not water, yet all who are thirsty, seeing me, come toward me to
drink, though I am no liquid. What am I?' Ans. Mirage.

'What is it that goes along the creek, across the creek, underneath it,
and along it again, and yet has left neither side?' ANS. The
yellow-flowering creeping water-weed.

'Here I am, just in front of you. I can't move; but if you kick me, I
will knock you down, though I will not move to do it. Who says